Subtly sifting through those ashes of barrens past,
Drifting in a sea that smashes fast,
Recast, this line sits, humbly rewarding noone that needs it,
Dying, the mans last breath can only feed it,
Above, Angels will sit and read it,
Only to bleed out broken cuts,
Harrowing his hell,
Only his thoughts can swell,
A crescendo, peaking at innocence, falling into captivation,
This mans simple lack of deprevation would force his own death.

Once more, his head falls back,

Gazing into the night sky,
Another try, and the line snaps.

Collapse of everything in its entirity,
His feet find no floor.

Emerging forward, perception blackened, a hallway with three doors sprawls and deepens.

The first revealing the crib where he spent his infancy,
The second revealing the passenger side of a car where he spent his dilequency,
The third...

A large grey stone monolith of a man.
Head bowed, sitting with feet folded in place, arms outstreached, palms up.

Above the palms, on either side,
A black and a white flame, balanced in opposition to eachother.

They speak in unison, one devilish, one angelic
"Do you know why you are here?"

You reply "I....... am unsure"
"It is time for your evaluation"
"Do you know what you are?"

You reply "I am an essence of free will"

The black one fires up
"I beg to differ. You are an element of your environment and every action you take is a direct result of your surroundings. Free will is an illusion because we are products of our environment, and we have no control over the circumstances in which we are raised under, nor who your parents are, nor the stars in the sky when you were born. How can one be in control of anything when he is not even in control of himself?"

The white one retorts
"Life is a stream down which we all must all travel. The river may wind and twist, but it always ends up in the same place. How we steer our vessel is what will determine what factors and qualities we shall have when we face judgement"

Silence echoes for hours, and standing there I see the stone man sit, carrying the balance of the universe, a triangle emblazoned on his forehead. I stare at the stone man and ask,

"What am I?"

The flames, constant, unwavering never stirred a second when he lifted his head and he answered,

"You are everything, and yet, you are nothing"

Those pyres, blistering upward flared into the darkness then calm

The white one, a fine sea's sky, drenched in a sunset
The black one, a desperate widow's mourning.

This black one offered me facts,
The white one offered be emotions,
The stone man sat.

The white one asks me
"Have you ever heard of places called 'Heaven' and 'Hell?"

"Yes, I have heard of them"

The black one speaks
"What do you know about them?"

"I know nothing of these places, as I have never experienced either of them"

The black one screams
"Is all that you base your existance off of is what you feel?! What of the things that you can know!?"

The white one serenely echoes
"Do you even know what the difference between fact and truth is?

"What I feel and what I know sometimes blend together into something some people call as 'instinct' or 'intuition'. As for 'fact' and 'truth', a fact seems to be something that has been proven that is commonly accepted as an absolute, whereas truth can be beauty and the beast. Someones truth may not be true for everyone else, but for that person they may believe in it blindly and challenge others who don't see it. I believe that love and beauty are truth, as they offer no malice or judgement."

Those swirling flames, reduced to embers and disapearred when I said this, and the stone man grudgingly opened his pewter eyes and looked at me. In my own voice, he spoke to me.

"You obviously aren't done yet"

Instantenously, I was back to writing in my poetry book and finished the piece with this line

A leaf, so defined, a miracle happening effortlessly, falls into my morning's Autumn.

___________________
Ah' Silence, the mortifier of unallocated disruption. *yawn *turns on winamp.

...